


Static

by Icanneverfacemyfamilyagain



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Basically, Blitzwing is something of a wildcard, Bumblebee has some issues, Even he doesn't know what he's doing, Gore, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kinda, Largely Hurt, M/M, Mute!Bumblebee, Neither do I, Now he has even more, Optimus and his bratty yellow son, Starscream is a sadist, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icanneverfacemyfamilyagain/pseuds/Icanneverfacemyfamilyagain
Summary: No matter how much his team loves him, Bumblebee has a real knack for getting on their circuits from time to time. Sometimes, when they've really had enough, they can find themselves wishing he'd just stop talking.They get their wish.





	1. Chapter 1

Optimus loved his crew. Really, he did. The four of them were a gift from the Allspark and he was truly blessed to have the pleasure of not only knowing but living alongside such amazing bots.  
  
Coexisting with that reality, however, was the reality of the fact that they could give him a Megatron-sized processor ache from time to time. The most frequent offender was, without a doubt, Bumblebee. Much as he loved the kid, he’d be a worse liar than a Decepticon if he tried to say that the scout didn’t drive him absolutely, as Sari would put it, “bat-shit”.  
  
There were many lengths of time in which Bumblebee was perfectly fine. He’d hop up from stasis full of energy, eager to tackle whatever that solar cycle brought about, chattering happily as he practically hung off the servos of whichever bot would allow him to do so, (usually just Optimus or Bulkhead), bright blue optics wide and enthusiastic.  
  
But then there were the bad days. Optimus had yet to figure out what, exactly, triggered the sudden change in behavior, but there were days when Bumblebee would come out of stasis seeming to have his processor set firmly on the goal of being as big a brat as possible. He tried to be patient with him- by the Allspark did he try- but on those days it seemed that Bumblebee simply wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d fried the CPU of every single bot he came across.  
  
This was one of those days.  
  
Right from the beginning, Optimus had known this was going to be exhausting. He’d been jolted out of stasis far earlier than he would’ve liked by the sound of ‘music’ blasting through the compound, and groaned loudly. To be entirely honest, Bumblebee had been testing his patience for a couple of days up until that point, actually, ever since Sari got him that cursed rhythm game. He was fine with Bumblebee having hobbies- he encouraged it- but the little scout had apparently become so enamored with one particular song that he’d decided to completely ignore all the others, and hearing the exact same song blasted on endless repeat for megacycles on end was enough to try the patience of even the most level-headed bot.  
  
From down the hall, he’d heard Ratchet shouting at Bumblebee to “turn that fraggin’ game off before I put yer helm through the screen!”, and it was at the unmistakable sound of Bumblebee turning up the volume in response that Optimus knew it was going to be one of _those _days.__  
  
Sure enough, even after Ratchet confiscated the game, Bumblebee continued to wreak havoc. A day without an immediate threat posed was a rare one, and most of the Autobots, understandably, wanted to to simply relax and wind down for a few megacycles before the next Decepticon-related disaster decided to take place. Even Bulkhead, who, as Bumblebee’s friend, was usually a lot more tolerant of his antics, had apparently gotten fed up with the scout’s continuous nagging, the tank’s bellowed request for “some fragging peace and quiet” frightening enough to actually calm things down for a click or two. But only for a click or two.  
  
Deprived of his usual outlets, Bumblebee moved on to annoying the rest of the crew, with pretty similar results. Ratchet had screamed at him to can it, and Prowl had- without a word and in a display of strength that Optimus had admittedly not expected from the ninjabot- just bodily thrown Bumblebee from his chambers and slammed the door. Normally, Optimus would have chastised his team mates for taking such extreme measures against their fellow bot, but given that Bumblebee had finally moved on to him, he was actually fairly understanding.  
  
He loved the kid, but by the Allspark was he being obnoxious. Optimus wasn’t sure whether or not it was physically possible for some bot to short circuit another’s auditors merely by talking, but if it was, that appeared to be Bumblebee’s goal. The yellow scout had taken to literally dangling off of Optimus’s right servo, severely impeding the larger bot’s movement as he continuously whined about the rest of the crew being ‘jerks’, and about a million other things that Optimus didn’t bother to process. He made it through about 5 cycles before his patience hit dangerously low levels.  
  
“Bumblebee!” He finally interrupted. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I’m trying to relax. Can’t you go play with Sari?” The look on Bumblebee’s faceplates was something between a scowl and a pout.  
  
“No,” the scout replied, bitterly. “She said she was busy.”  
  
“Well, I’m also busy.”  
  
“Doing what? You just said you were trying to relax!”  
  
“Yes. I’m busy trying to relax.”  
  
“That doesn’t make any sense! How can you be busy doing nothing?!”  
  
“Taking the time to properly unwind is very important, Bumblebee,” Optimus responded, shortly.  
  
“Well, how the frag am I supposed to unwind if there’s nothing around here to do?!” Bumblebee whined. Optimus resisted the urge to roll his optics.  
  
“That’s the point of unwinding, Bee. You’re not supposed to be doing anything.”  
  
“But I’m boooooooored!”  
  
Seeing clearly that he wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to reason with him, Optimus chose to try simply ignoring his team’s youngest member, in the hopes that he’d get the message and find something else to do. Really, he didn’t know why he thought that’d work. If there was one thing Bumblebee hated, it was being ignored. Not two clicks later, Bumblebee began tapping incessantly on Optimus’s servo, repeating the leader’s name over and over and over until Optimus finally lost the last shreds of patience he’d been so desperately clinging on to.  
  
He hadn’t meant to snap. It was unbecoming of a leader to blow up on his team mates, especially with one as young as Bumblebee, but at that point, he couldn’t help it. He was stressed, tired, and just wanted one fragging megacycle to himself, for once. He’d feel bad about it later, but at the time he’d had no such concerns.  
  
With a single, sharp motion, he dislodged Bumblebee from his servo, causing the scout to land firmly on his aft.  
  
“Bumblebee, would you please, for once in your life, be quiet?! I’m sorry you’re bored, and I’m sorry your friends are busy, but that doesn’t give the right to annoy every bot you come into contact with. If you’re that bored, why don’t you go ahead and do a few laps around the city to see if the Cons are up to anything? Frag, go do a few 'donuts' in the Captain's yard again! I don’t care! Just stop bothering me!” Optimus wasn’t normally one to raise his voice, but he was practically shouting, definitely loud enough that the other bots in the compound could hear.  
  
There was a moment of silence in which the two of them simply stared at each other, Optimus glaring down into the startled looking optics of his youngest member, before a look of deep hurt, covered quickly by anger came across Bumblebee’s expression. The little yellow bot hauled himself up to his pedes and stomped out of the room without a second glance.  
  
As soon as the distant sound of tires screeching away hit his audials, Optimus sighed deeply, placing a hand on his helm. Frag. Bumblebee was probably going take a while to recover from that one. For a bot who seemed to take such great pleasure in pushing everyone’s buttons, he sure could be sensitive every now and then.  
  
Nevertheless, the desired effect had been achieved. The compound was silent, and Optimus planned on enjoying that peace and quiet while it lasted.  
  
Bumblebee was having a terrible day. If he were to rank his days from worst to best, today would probably be just barely under “getting griefed by Starscream and launched off a building” and above “getting caught for pranking Sentinel”. It sucked.  
  
He would probably be the first to admit that he was a very social bot, more so than most. He honestly couldn’t help it. He had a lot of energy, and he found that he burned it off best when in the company of others, happily rattling off whatever came into his processor at whatever audience was willing to tolerate him. Very tactile, too, always seeking some form of contact from whoever he could when he got the chance. He didn’t know why, exactly, he was like that, but he just was. He craved attention like it was energon, and that had been the cause of more than enough problems throughout his lifetime.  
  
He knew he was being obnoxious today. He knew it, and yet was unable to prevent himself from doing it anyways. Much as he wanted to be liked, he was more comfortable with being annoying and attended to than liked and ignored. Bad attention was still better than no attention. And besides, his teammates usually got over their annoyance with him after not too long.  
  
Today, however, it seemed everyone had just collectively had enough. Ratchet taking his game away had left him with a whole lot of pent up energy and no way to disperse it on his own, so he’d taken to pestering his team mates. He’d started with Bulkhead, as the green giant was usually willing to put up with him, but had abandoned that plan of action pretty quick after being yelled at. He wouldn’t deny that that one stung a bit, but he hadn’t let it show. He knew he deserved it.  
  
He hadn’t been expecting much from Ratchet or Prowl, but he’d still ended up disappointed. Typically, Ratchet would gladly take the time to chew him out, which was something at the very least, but today he’d barely gotten 10 words out of the old grump before being ignored. With Prowl, he got even less.  
  
He knew Optimus was tired, but he also knew Optimus was typically very patient. He’d felt bad about abusing that patience but the ache in his spark was such that the need to abate it outweighed any moral quandaries he may have been facing. But it seemed he’d finally pushed it too far, because even Optimus snapped at him.  
  
And that lead here, to Bumblebee tearing his way down the streets of Detroit, heading towards the outskirts of the city at a speed he knew the Captain would complain about. He hated this. Hated himself, really. Why was he like this? There must be some malfunction in his central processor. There was absolutely no reason for it to hurt but it _did _. By the Allspark, it did.__  
  
His spark hurt when he was alone, when he was ignored or rejected- which, given his personality, was often. It was a dreadful ache that spread from his core out through the rest of his body and left him feeling both heavy and keyed up. It was a physical force that slammed against his chassis from the inside, making him want to scream until his vocalizer fried if that would only somehow get it out. But it didn’t. He’d tried. He’d tried everything. He’d blasted things with his stingers until the energy loss made him collapse. He’d driven as fast as he could until he physically couldn’t move anymore. He’d clawed at his chassis, melting his hands as they drew too close to the spark that burned within. He’d bashed his own helm against the walls as if trying to crack it open and release the ache that way. None of it worked. The only thing that ever made it go away was the presence of other bots. It was as if they absorbed it, somehow- as if the touch of their metal to his own seeped the ache out, as if the simple act of his words landing upon auditors other than his own took the feeling with them.  
  
There was something wrong with him, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Instead, he just made it worse, because he was a slagging idiot.  
  
He made it miles away before he even knew it, eventually stopping in the middle of a wide, empty clearing in the woods which looked as though it had either been stripped of its features, or had yet to gain any. He stomped around for a fairly long time- kicking at the grass beneath his pedes, blasting a few rocks, screaming- whatever it took to 'blow off steam', as Sari had called it. He was completely alone. He’d never understand how Prowl actually liked this. With nothing else to focus on, the buzzing only grew louder, and he couldn’t stand it.  
  
Wait a click.  
  
That buzzing… wasn’t just in his processor. Tuning his audials more closely, he was pretty sure he could actually hear a steady, mechanical buzzing that definitely didn’t belong in the forest coming from somewhere.  
  
And it was getting louder.  
  
Where was it coming from?  
  
A scan of the surrounding woods revealed nothing out of the ordinary, but the buzzing was almost deafening now, more like a… scream.  
  
The realization hit his addled processor a moment too late, and he barely even got the chance to look up before he was slammed to the ground, a sturdy pede planted firmly against his back, preventing him from fleeing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bee Gonna Suffer O' Clock
> 
> Don't worry, he'll be fine. 
> 
> (maybe)
> 
>  
> 
> (okay probably not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, for clarification's sake, this takes place at some point during like, Season 2. So the Decepticons are still chilling on Earth. They have not yet gotten launched into space, and Starscream does have a body.   
> Why is he working with Megatron?  
> ...Man I dunno. I hadn't exactly thought it that far through. I'm basically picturing the dynamic that they had for the third season, in which Starscream is technically working with Megatron, but they both know he's gonna try and off Megatron. Megatron just doesn't really care that much because Starscream is... bad at it. He tolerates him.

Blitzwing was well aware that he wasn’t the most… agreeable of bots, but at least he had an excuse. The process of becoming a triple changer had left his processor scrambled and fragmented into three distinct personalities, which was, understandably, a bit off-putting. Starscream had no excuse. He was just insufferable.  
  
Nevertheless, given the choice between him and Lugnut, Blitzwing would take Starscream every single time. At least Screamy’s variety of annoying was somewhat amusing.  
  
Why they even bothered continuing to patrol this accursed city was beyond him. The Autobots were no closer to finding their base than they had been decacycles ago, and yet Megatron still insisted upon having them scour their surroundings for any sign of those puny glitches, both to keep an optic on them, and possibly to locate their hiding place as well.  
  
That second matter was a thing that Blitzwing chose to keep his mouth shut about. In truth, he’d actually had a pretty strong suspicion that he knew where the Autobot’s base was. After all, they did always seem to come from the same general area, and it wasn’t exactly too hard from there to narrow down potential hiding places based on size and availability. Why he kept this information to himself, even he wasn’t sure. If he was being entirely honest, he really wasn’t all that loyal to Megatron in the first place. If anything, he hated the bot, but followed him anyway out of a sense of not knowing what else to really do. He was a Decepticon, and Megatron was the leader of the Decepticons. That was just how things were.  
  
Didn’t mean he had to go out of his way to help.  
  
It was on their third lap around the city that Blitzwing spotted a flash of yellow in the woods, concerningly close to the entrance of the cave leading down to their secret hideout. He’d frozen in midair, his abrupt halt interrupting whatever banal thing Starscream had been going on about.  
  
Closer inspection revealed that yes, the figure in the woods was indeed the obnoxious little Autobot scout. His face shifted to the red one, which angrily pressed his glossa against the gap where one of his dentae used to be. That puny glitch had been the one who’d tricked him into transforming midair. He was so going to make him pay for that.  
  
Strange, though, was the lack of the other Autobots. Sure, they’d been known to split up before, but they still usually remained within a certain distance of each other. Yet a quick scan of the area revealed the scout as being the only bot in the area. Besides him and Starscream, of course.  
  
Speaking of Starscream, the other seeker had taken notice of the Autobot beneath them, and a positively maniacal grin spread across his faceplates. A quick glance Blitzwing’s way was the only warning that the triple changer got before Starscream dove for the Autobot, pinning the tiny thing to the ground before he even got the chance to look up. Blitzwing descended close behind, eyeing the scout curiously, his face having shifted back to blue.  
  
The scout squirmed frantically underneath Starscream’s pede, an endeavor that was quickly proven pointless as he failed to even budge. Blitzwing just stared. Really, why was he so small? He’d noticed that Autobots generally seemed to be a little smaller than Decepticons for whatever reason, but this was just ridiculous. Starscream’s pede was practically the same size as the scout’s entire torso. What was the point of having a bot that tiny?  
  
In spite of the scout not actually making any progress, his struggling seemed to annoy Starscream, who applied more pressure on his pede, bearing down until the groaning of metal could be heard. The little autobot whimpered, but appeared to have gotten the message, and stopped moving. Starscream once again shot Blitzwing a look, his optics gleaming with a sadistic glee that Blitzwing recognized all too well. The fuschia menace had finally found something to take his pent up anger out on, and he was going to enjoy every second of it. Blitzwing didn’t smile back, but nodded slightly, indicating his approval. It wasn’t as though Starscream wouldn’t have just gone ahead anyways, but Blitzwing nonetheless felt the need to indicate that he didn’t object to his fellow Con having a bit of stress relief. He had some gears to grind with this bot in particular.  
  
“Well, well, well,” Starscream began. “Look what the Con dragged in,” Blitzwing resisted the urge to roll his optics. Such a drama queen.  
  
The scout, for his part, looked terrified. With his enhanced vision, Blitzwing could easily see the wide blue optics staring up at Starscream from where the bot was pressed into the dirt. If he listened closely, he could hear the sound of rapid, shallow venting.  
  
“What’s the matter, bug?” Starscream continued, leaning down over the small bot, but without removing his pede. “You seem awfully quiet, for once. Normally by now you’d be trying to fry our audials with your screeching.”  
  
“My name’s Bumblebee!” The scout finally spat out. He was clearly trying to sound brave, but the slight tremor in his voice gave him away.  
  
“Don’t care,” Starscream replied, flatly.  
  
“Where are your Autobot friends, bug?” Blitzwing asked, dropping to a crouch to look closer at the yellow bot. Truthfully, he didn’t need to get any closer, but the voice of his fanged face cooed in delight in the back of his processor at the fear in the scout’s eyes as he loomed over him, so he did it. The whims of that particular ‘self’ were often nonsensical, but he found it best to simply appease them whenever possible. It was easier that way.  
  
“Like I’d ever tell you, Decepti-creep!” The bot shot back.  
  
“Oooh, nice one!” Blitzwing crooned, his fanged face taking over as he leaned in even closer to the tiny Autobot, who struggled fruitlessly to back away. “Really, that’s quite the comeback you’ve got there. Totally showed me who was in charge, that’s for sure.”  
  
Starscream snickered, and the scout stared dumbly at him for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond. It didn’t last long, however, as, true to this bot’s nature, he began screaming insults at the two of them in a matter of a few clicks. Starscream rolled his optics.  
  
“Would you be quiet, bug?” Starscream snapped. “You’re giving me a processor ache.”  
  
“Shove it up your exhaust pipe!” The scout replied. Starscream gave Blitzwing a long suffering look.  
  
“Really,” he said over the small bot’s continuous screeching, “doesn’t this thing ever shut up?”  
  
“Doubtful,” Blitzwing replied, his face switching back to blue. “From the few encounters I’ve had, it seems ‘obnoxious’ is this bot’s default setting.”  
  
“Hm,” Starscream grunted, a nasty gleam suddenly lighting up his optics. “I can fix that.”  
  
He lifted his pede up off the scout, who, of course, tried to make a run for it, only to be violently thrown to the ground once again, flipped over and pinned down by Starscream’s hand.  
  
To the little bot’s credit, he was certainly a fighter. Even though he was shaking uncontrollably, he was clearly trying to keep his expression brave. Tiny yellow servos shot up, taking advantage of the new position to blast electricity into Starscream’s faceplates. It was ineffective, of course, but Starscream still bared his dentae in a snarl, eliciting a frightened squeak from the bot below him.  
  
“Stupid little pest,” Starscream growled, his other hand darting forward and grabbing one of the offending servos in between two digits before twisting it harshly, the shrill screech of metal being bent out of place filling the air.  
  
For a moment, the scout fell silent, blue optics wide with shock. It didn’t last long, however, as the pain seemed to catch up to him shortly after and he howled, struggling desperately as Starscream seized his other servo. The little bot’s frantic “no no no no no” fell on deaf audials as that too was twisted out of place, eliciting a wail from the now sobbing Autobot. Even Blitzwing had to suppress a flinch at the sight of it. Servos were not meant to bend that way.  
  
Starscream’s expression was now positively euphoric. The egomaniac always had seemed to get off on torturing things that were weaker than him. Made him feel more powerful, Blitzwing supposed. Maybe. Who knew?  
  
“Now, now, bug,” Starscream purred, leaning down so that he was practically helm to helm with the injured scout. The hand he wasn’t using to pin the bot down came up again, one clawed digit curling up against the cables at the scout’s neck. The Autobot froze, venting shallow, shining optics locked on the claw at his neck. “I thought I told you to be quiet.”  
  
And with that, Starscream wedged his claw under one of the cables and pulled upwards. The groaning of metal was barely audible over the Autobot’s pained scream. A scream that warped into an increasingly mechanical screech before exploding into static as Starscream finally ripped out the scout’s vocalizer. Bright pink energon surged forth, splattering the dirt below. The scout’s twisted servos twitched, as if he was trying to move them, likely to try and stem the flow of energon pouring from his throat, but they were far too mangled for him to do much of anything.  
  
“Ugh,” Starscream huffed, sounding disgusted. He crushed the vocalizer easily between his digits, lifting his hand off the scout and rising to stand. “Somehow that’s even more annoying. Oh well. I’m heading back.” Bitzwing blinked in surprise.  
  
“You are just… leaving him here?” He asked. Starscream looked at him like he was stupid.  
  
“I can’t stand that static, it’s really getting on my circuits,” he replied. “At the rate he’s losing energon, the puny bot should bleed out in a matter of cycles. You’re welcome to stay and watch, if you want, but the fun part’s over.” And with that, he took off, leaving Blitzwing alone in the clearing with the dying Autobot.  
  
He eyed the scout over. The static screeching stopped after a few clicks, the bot evidently having figured out it wasn’t doing any good. Energon continued to gush from the destroyed cables at his neck. A small light flickered on on the side of his helm, and from his spot only a few feet away Blitzwing could hear a voice.  
  
“Bumblebee?” The voice said. “Bumblebee, is that you?” Slag. The scout had opened a com link. Instead of doing anything about it, however, Blitzwing just continued to stare.  
  
Static rang through the air again as the scout tried in vain to respond. An annoyed huff could be heard over the com link.  
  
“Seriously, Bumblebee?” The voice said. “Again with the fake static? Unbelievable.”  
  
The light clicked off, and Blitzwing felt one of his optics widen slightly.  
  
“Wow,” he muttered. “That seems rather cold.”  
  
The scout just let out a sob, not even looking at him. All of the fight seemed to have drained out of the small yellow frame, blue optics dimmed and staring blankly in resignation at the sky above, venting growing increasingly labored. A soft, staticy buzz came from the bot, as if he were still trying to say something, though obviously to no avail.  
  
Unsure of what compelled him to do it, Blitzwing found himself reaching forward and gently nudging the bot with one of his hands. He expected him to either flinch away or simply not respond, so he was undeniably surprised when the scout actually seemed to lean into the touch. He supposed it could’ve just been his imagination though. As could the expression of relief he could’ve sworn he saw on the scout’s faceplates.  
  
As if from far away, he felt himself scoot the tiny bot closer, examining the wound. Starscream hadn’t been lying (rather uncharacteristic for him) when he’d said that the energon loss would offline the scout in a matter of cycles. With the frankly startling amount of pink staining the ground, his best guess was that the other seeker must have torn open a vital line or two. At that rate, it was less a matter of cycles and more a matter of clicks.  
  
He placed two of his digits as delicately as he could over the wound, the sensation of energon gushing over them an all too familiar one. What was considerably less familiar was the feeling of his digits heating up, melting the metal beneath them.  
  
A staticy whine hit his audials, and, unsure of what possessed him to do it, Blitzwing found himself murmuring back a simple “shhh”. For once, the bot actually complied. Though whether that was as a result of no longer having a vocalizer, energon loss, or actually listening to him, Blitzwing couldn’t tell.  
  
He pulled his hand back after a moment, eyeing his handiwork. It was messy, certainly, and though he was no medic he felt confident in saying that he’d probably caused some separate damage, but he had managed to seal off the severed ends of the vital line, slowing the scout’s energon loss down to a trickle. The Autobot definitely still needed medical attention if he were to actually stand a chance at surviving, but with the energon loss taken care of, he should survive long enough for Blitzwing to…  
  
To what, exactly? What the frag was his end goal here?  
  
Blitzwing felt like an outsider in his own frame, acting without having the slightest clue as to why. He felt himself scoop the little bot up, clutching him to his chassis as he took to the air.  
  
He made his way back to the city in no time, hovering tentatively above the massive building that he was about 99% sure was the Autobot base.  
  
Why was he doing this?  
  
An inexplicable sense of relief flooded him as he picked up on Autobot energy signatures from within the building. He descended, gently laying the now definitely unconscious bot on the ground in front of the warehouse.  
  
Really, why was he doing this?  
  
He didn’t have an explanation for his behavior. Instead, he hurled a sizeable piece of debris from the ground beneath him through one of the warehouse’s remaining intact windows, the loud shattering of glass filling his audials, followed quickly by the distant sound of voices from within.  
  
He took off, and was long gone before the first Autobot made it outside. Energon stained his servos. The sight of it didn’t give him the same sense of delight it usually did.  
  
Why did he do that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this might not make that much sense continuity wise, but whatever. I came to write angst, so I'll write angst, logic be damned.   
> If things are at all confusing, feel free to point it out. I may or may not have an explanation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bee's had better days

In Bumblebee’s defense, he knew that trying to provoke a Decepticon- especially one that has you pinned to the ground- was a bad idea. Logically, he knew that.  
  
Didn’t stop him from doing it anyway.  
  
He hurled insults with vitriol, repeating everything he’d heard Ratchet say while fixing the ship and more. A part of him was almost thankful Optimus wasn’t there, because his language would definitely have gotten him in trouble with the older bot.  
  
Whatever his desired effect was, however, it didn’t have that.  
  
For a click, he’d almost believed they were going to let him go. Starscream’s pede had lifted off his back, releasing the crushing pressure it’d kept on him, and Bumblebee had scrambled to get up and get out of there. His hopes were quickly dashed however, as Starscream just grabbed him again, this time throwing him down onto his back, hard enough that he felt his helm crack painfully on the ground beneath him, the seeker’s claws keeping him trapped.  
  
Though his stingers had never had any real effect on Starscream before, that didn’t stop him from trying his hardest to blast one of the fragger’s optics out, a tactic which proved as ineffective as ever.  
  
Bumblebee didn’t care. His processor was in hyperdrive. Somehow, this was even worse than just being stepped on. Now he actually had to look up at the looming face above him, see those gleaming optics stare him down. He felt tiny, trapped, and absolutely terrified.  
  
In response to his continued struggles, the Decepticon above him bared his dentae and _snarled _, causing Bumblebee to let out a noise he wasn’t proud of. By the Allspark those things were huge. The Con could probably bite him in half without any trouble if he wanted to.__  
  
“Stupid little pest,” the Con growled, seizing one of Bumblebee’s servos and twisting.  
  
He froze, going completely rigid. He could almost swear he felt his spark stop pulsing.  
  
And then the pain hit.  
  
Bumblebee was no stranger to battle damage. Heck, he wasn’t even a stranger to specifically Starscream-related battle damage. But this was different. There was something about actually being in the middle of the fight that let you shrug off the shots. Sure, they still hurt, but it was more of an annoyance than anything else. You hardly even felt it.  
  
This wasn’t that.  
  
Warnings exploded across his vision and Bumblebee screamed. His servo was bent at an angle nothing was meant to bend and it _hurt _. The pain sent him into a full blown panic. He had to get away. They were going to offline him. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die!__  
  
Through the pain, he felt his second servo being grabbed and his spark nearly leapt out of his chassis.  
“No!” he heard himself croak out. “Please! No no no no no no no n-”  
  
His pleas were cut off by the sound of his own scream as that servo too was mercilessly wrenched out of place. The warnings blinded him. He felt coolant pour down his faceplates.  
  
Something touched his neck.  
  
Bumblebee froze.  
  
Through hazy, blurred optics, he could see the deadly point of Starscream’s claw poised right at his neck cables. His spark felt as though it were either deathly still or attempting to burst its way out of his chassis.  
  
“Now, now, bug,” Starscream’s voice sounded as if it were coming from miles away. “I though I told you to be quiet.”  
  
The sound of his own screaming was deafening, but so too was the sound of the cables in his neck being wrenched out of place, shredded. There were so many warnings now that they obscured even each other, his vision nothing more than an array of flashing lights.  
  
Those few clicks seemed to drag on for an eternity. Bumblebee felt energon spill down over his chassis. He felt his tanks churn violently, the urge to retch shaking his frame. But most horribly of all, he felt his vocalizer, his voice, being ripped out of him, agonizingly slow, and had to listen to his screams warp and distort until, with a sickening crunch, the vocalizer was finally torn free, leaving behind nothing but static.  
  
Instinct sent a sharp current through his servos, driving them to try and lurch upwards to stem the flow of energon, but all he got was a weak twitch and a blinding burst of pain as his mangled servos failed to respond.  
  
The world spun. He was pretty sure he could hear voices talking, but they were largely drowned out by the audial-splitting static which spread across his frame as if it were a physical force. His limbs tingled, starting out as just a light buzz but morphing into millions upon millions of tiny stabs, digging under his plating and tearing at his circuitry until he couldn’t feel them anymore. The warnings flashing before his optics glitched, exploding into pixels that rained across his display like those things that Sari had said were called ‘fireworks’.  
  
Sari. He was never going to see her again, was he? He was never going to see anyone again. He was going to go offline here in the middle of some forest, completely by himself, and they’d never know.  
  
Despair flooded him. He wasn’t afraid of going offline, exactly. He’d known it was an inevitability, especially given his lifestyle, but every time he’d come close before, he’d done so alongside his friends, his family. He had been afraid then too, but it was nothing like the fear that gripped him now. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone hedidn’twanttobealonehedidn’twanttobealonehedidn’twanttobealonehedidn’twanttobealonehedidn’twanttobealonehe-  
  
“Bumblebee? Bumblebee, is that you?” Optimus? That was Optimus’s voice!  
  
“Help,” he croaked out. “Please, help.”  
  
Or at least, that’s what he tried to say. In reality, all that came out was the crackle of static. He heard a noise of exasperation on the other end.  
  
“Seriously, Bumblebee? Again with the fake static? Unbelievable.” A soft click, and he was all alone. Again.  
  
A choked sob tore its way out of him, the sound disgusting and distorted without a voice to support it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he tried to say. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”  
  
But he couldn’t even do that.  
  
He was freezing. The pain was mostly gone, which was a relief, but it had been replaced with a cold so deep he couldn’t even shiver. His small frame never could handle the cold very well. He hated it. His optics were well and truly offline by now, likely due to a lack of fuel, leaving him to stare into a spark-sapping emptiness. His audials followed shortly after, the already muffled sounds around him shutting off abruptly. Silence was always something he’d had a hard time with, but now he couldn’t do anything to be rid of it.  
  
Something touched him. Digits? Gentle digits, much larger than his. Someone else was there? With his processor as weak as it currently was, he couldn’t make out much beyond that, and he didn’t much care to. Someone else was there with him, they were touching him, and he wasn’t alone anymore. That was all that really mattered.  
  
His immediate urge was to curl as close as possible to the other bot, to absorb as much of that comforting contact as he could, but in his current state, he couldn’t manage anything more than to lean slightly into the touch. Oh well. It was enough.  
  
A burning pain suddenly flared up, not anywhere near as bad as the pain earlier had been, but still enough to be unpleasant. Following it, however, came a wave of calming energy flooded through his field. He made no attempts to resist it, letting all the tension in his frame melt away. It didn’t hurt anymore.  
  
There were hands holding him, and the warmth of another spark pulsing from not far away. He felt weightless.  
  
And then he didn’t feel anything anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say real quick that I've really appreciated the feedback I've gotten, and that it's been a _huge _factor in helping me keep going on this. I usually write one shots so attempting a longer thing with like, actual plot, is a pretty bis deal for me, so I really appreciate it.__


	4. Chapter 4

Optimus came out of a stasis nap on his own, feeling well-rested and alert. Naturally, he was immediately on edge. That never happened. Something must have gone horribly awry.  
  
And yet, his sensors indicated nothing of the sort. He clearly hadn’t been kidnapped, and he could hear the distant sounds of Bulkhead pounding away at his newest sculpture, so clearly nothing could have been that wrong.  
  
He had to admit, he was a bit taken aback. Not that he was complaining, but since when had he ever been able to actually take a decent nap? Normally, Bumblebee would’ve woken him up by-  
  
Oh, right. Bumblebee.  
  
Optimus sighed deeply. He’d almost forgotten about that.  
  
Strange, though, was the fact that he couldn’t hear Bumblebee at all within the compound. Sure, he’d heard the young bot take off earlier, but if his internal clock was correct, then that was almost 2 megacycles ago. The longest he’d ever seen Bumblebee manage to keep up one of these ‘tantrums’ was less than a megacycle, and that had been when he was chasing after Sari. Slag. He must’ve really messed up this time.  
  
After a click or two of just standing there, Optimus slowly made his way up to the common area, lowering himself somewhat awkwardly onto the couch. The silence of the compound was honestly making him uneasy, and he began drumming his digits against his pistons for lack of anything better to do. This was all so unusual. He had no idea how to handle a situation in which nothing was actively demanding his attention.  
  
His com-link switching on startled him. Who would be calling him right now? Though they’d been known to cut corners at times, none of his bots were lazy enough to actually try and com somebody who was in the same building as them. Unless…  
  
“Bumblebee?” Optimus asked. The scout was the only bot currently still unaccounted for. “Bumblebee, is that you?”  
  
The all too familiar crackling of static on the other end both answered his question and infuriated him. For the love of Primus! A part of him noted that Bumblebee’s static impression had gotten a whole lot better, but it was drowned out by the part of him that wanted to throttle the little bot.  
  
“Seriously Bumblebee?” He said, his voice terse. “Again with the fake static? Unbelievable.” And with that, he cut the connection, already fed up with the scout all over again. Really, of all the sparkling-like, immature things to do… and to think, Optimus had actually been feeling bad about telling him off. Clearly, Bumblebee was still determined to be as petty as ever.  
  
“Was that Bumblebee?” A voice from behind gave him a start, and Optimus turned around to see the massive, paint-splattered frame of Bulkhead looming over him. How he’d managed to sneak up on him was a complete mystery.  
  
“Yeah,” Optimus confirmed. “He apparently called just to blow static at me. Again.”  
  
“For real?” Bulkhead asked, faceplates twisting. “Yikes.” In what was quickly becoming a pattern for the day, Optimus sighed.  
  
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him today,” Optimus said, shaking his helm slightly.  
  
“Well, it’s Bumblebee,” Bulkhead replied. “He’ll probably bounce right back by tomorrow at the latest.”  
  
“I sure hope you’re right…” Optimus muttered.  
  
Though he hadn’t the slightest clue why, there was an odd sort of weight in his spark, an unshakable sense that something was horribly, horribly wrong. He felt as though he was missing something, as though disaster was staring him straight in the optics, but for some reason he just couldn’t see it. He’d gotten this sense before, but that was usually in the middle of a battle or right before an ambush; when there was some environmental cue that something terrible was about to happen. Only problem was- he had absolutely no idea what had set off the alarms this time, much less what those alarms were actually warning for.  
  
“Trust me, Bossbot, I’ve known Bumblebee since we were in the Academy together. He can have his mood swings, but he’s a good bot. He’ll be back to normal in no time!” Bulkhead reassured, smiling at Optimus. Optimus gave a somewhat shaky smile back. He wanted to believe Bulkhead, and prior experience told him that the big green bot was indeed correct, but he still couldn’t shake that slagging feeling of apprehension.  
  
Nevertheless, he did his best to brush it off. There was no sign whatsoever of any impending danger in his immediate surroundings. There was no need to be so on edge.  
  
In an effort to try and distract himself from the gnawing at his spark, Optimus made conversation with Bulkhead about the tankbot’s latest art piece. Bulkhead was, as usual, very enthusiastic about his work, and though Optimus understood very little of what he was saying, it was always nice to see his crew so excited about something. In fact, he’d managed to get so engrossed in Bulkhead’s display of energy that he’d almost completely forgotten about his earlier apprehension.  
  
The shattering of glass snapped them both out of the conversation very abruptly. A distant crash from the direction of Prowl’s chambers suggested that the ninjabot had been attempting to balance himself on something (again), and Ratchet’s bellow of “What the FRAG?!” implied that the medic had also been alarmed by the noise, and wasn’t happy about it. The sound of pedes stomping their way down the hallway furthered that notion.  
  
“What in Primus’s name was that noise?!” Ratchet demanded, bursting into the common room with an air of violence about him. “Some bots are trying to take a fragging stasis nap around here!”  
  
“Wasn’t me!” Bulkhead protested, holding both his servos in the air in the human symbol for surrender.  
  
“Well then who the frag was it?!” Ratchet snapped. Somewhere in the back of Optimus’s processor, a voice complained about the elder bot’s language. Was it really necessary to punctuate every single statement with profanity? There were young bots present!  
  
Well, actually, there weren’t right now, as Bumblebee was both the youngest of them all and absent at the moment, but still.  
  
“It sounded as though something broke the window,” Optimus said.  
  
“Want me to go check it out?” Bulkhead offered.  
  
“Sure, I don’t see the harm in it,” Optimus replied. “It’s probably nothing, but just in case, stay alert.”  
  
“You got it, Bossbot!” Bulkhead confirmed, hauling himself up to his pedes and making his way outside the compound.  
  
There was silence for a click or two, as Optimus and Ratchet simply stared at each other. The old bot still looked undeniably annoyed, and Optimus could sympathise.  
  
“RATCHET!!!” Bulkhead’s scream ripped through the otherwise quiet air. “RATCHET, OPTIMUS, GET OUT HERE!” The urgency in his voice was enough to send both bots bolting outside.  
  
Ratchet, having been closer to the exit, made it out first, with Optimus close on his bumper. From where he was standing, all he could see was Bulkhead’s massive form kneeling on the gravel, clutching… something. Optimus couldn’t quite tell what from this angle.  
  
“Sweet Primus, Bulkhead, what’s the big-” Ratchet froze, his halt so abrupt that Optimus ran right into him.  
  
“He-he’s not moving,” Optimus heard Bulkhead mutter, sounding panicked. ‘He’? There was someone there? Optimus still couldn't see anything beyond Bulkhead's imposing frame.  
  
“Get him inside,” Ratchet’s voice was strained, more so than Optimus had ever heard before, and he’d be lying if he said that that didn’t send a jolt of fear through his spark. “And be careful about it.”  
  
It wasn’t until Bulkhead complied and turned around that Optimus was finally able to catch sight of what they were talking about. He almost wished he hadn’t.  
  
At first, his processor had refused to match up to what his optics were seeing, because it couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t. He’d seen Bumblebee only two megacycles ago. Two megacycles. That was hardly any time at all! There were several clicks in which his processor adamantly avoided making the connection. Sure, they both had the same yellow paint-job, but the thing in Bulkhead’s servos couldn’t be Bumblebee, because Bumblebee was all energy and noise and bright color and the thing in Bulkhead’s servos was not. The thing in Bulkhead’s servos was completely limp, (‘dead weight’, his processor supplied), splattered with energon, wide, offlined optics containing not even a hint of blue. It wasn’t him.  
  
But it was.  
  
The sheer cognitive dissonance of connecting Bumblebee, his Bumblebee, to what he was seeing was nearly enough to send Optimus reeling. Nearly. In reality, his pistons held steady, his tanks churning violently as he stepped out of the way to allow Bulkhead back into the warehouse.  
  
The walk back to their improvised med bay had never felt longer. Logically, he knew that the hallway was only a few meters long, but as he trailed behind his teammates, it may as well have been miles. Though it felt like megacycles, it must have been only a matter of clicks before Bulkhead laid the limp frame onto the metal table.  
  
(‘Bumblebee’. His processor supplied, ‘it’s Bumblebee. Refusing to acknowledge it won’t change that fact.’)  
  
He knew that.  
  
He _knew _that.__  
  
But every time he tried to make the connection, his processor blanked. He must be malfunctioning, somehow.  
  
“Call Sari,” Ratchet said, his tone authoritative.  
  
“W-what?” Optimus asked. Primus, did he just stutter? That settled it- there was definitely something wrong with his processor.  
  
“Call Sari”, Ratchet repeated, not even looking up from where his servos were embedded in Bumblebee’s chassis, doing Primus knows what. Optimus wasn’t a medic on the best of days. “We’re going to need that key,” Ratchet said.  
  
Alarms exploded in Optimus’s frazzled processor. For Ratchet to admit that they needed the key, without any complaining, things must have been really, really bad.  
  
One of Ratchet’s servos moved, and Optimus caught a glimpse of the frame on the table. With the chassis open, Optimus could see all too clearly the way Bumblebee’s spark flickered, dimmer than any spark, much less Bumblebee’s, should ever be. He looked so small on that table. So wrecked. So…  
  
( _dead _)__  
  
“I’ll go,” Optimus found himself blurting out, already turning on his pede and marching out of the chamber, wrestling hard with the nausea that held an iron grip on his tanks. He knew it wasn’t very leader-like to lose his composure over something like this. This wasn’t the first time his teammates had gotten injured. This wasn’t even the first time Bumblebee had gotten injured. But there was something so… wrong about it this time.  
  
This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen. His teammates got injured, but they did so during battle. They took hits in the name of their fight. They suffered through cannon shots and big falls and energy blasts. They didn’t show up outside the base bent like a broken doll and covered in their own energon. That sort of thing didn’t happen. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go!  
  
Distantly, he heard ringing through his own coms. Oh, right. He was calling Sari.  
  
“Optimus? What’s up?” Her voice had never sounded so good as it did then. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if she hadn’t picked up.  
  
“Sari?” Optimus croaked. “Listen, we need you down here at the plant, now.”  
  
“Wh- I’m busy!” Sari protested. “I already told Bumblebee that this morning I… Optimus are you okay? You sound… upset?”  
  
“It’s an emergency,” Optimus replied. He really didn’t feel like trying to explain this over com. “Just… please. We need your key.”  
  
Silence for a moment. And then,  
  
“I’m on my way,” Sari said, her voice concerned. Optimus heard a distant “Sparkplug, you’re in charge!” before the line went dead.  
  
Now all he had to do was wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus is not having a good time.

Waiting, as it turned out, was a terrible thing.  
  
Granted, Optimus was no stranger to doing so, but there was a marked difference between waiting under normal circumstances, and waiting while your youngest teammate hovered inches away from the Well of Allsparks in a broke down building light years away from home.  
  
Prowl had entered the room at some point, but he was as far away as everything else. Whether it was the look on his teammates’ faces or simply a ninja’s intuition, Optimus couldn’t say, but Prowl somehow knew better than to try and ask questions. Optimus was thankful for that. He didn’t know what he would say. He didn’t even know if he was capable of saying anything at the moment.  
  
What could have been millenia passed. Sari’s voice came from the entrance, and Optimus’s audials must have been malfunctioning just as badly as the rest of him because he couldn’t understand a word she said. A look passed among the four of them, and even without words, they all understood the meaning. None of them were willing to leave the room.  
  
It was Ratchet who broke the silence, a loud shout of “Med-Bay!” making Optimus flinch in spite of himself. Sari’s footsteps came closer and closer until a small shriek filled the air, followed by rapid, incomprehensible speech.  
  
A noise that could have been a laugh or a sob or something else entirely made its way out of Optimus’s throat. She sounded like Bumblebee, words coming so fast they tripped and piled over each other, pitch rising and falling with the tide of the emotion driving it. He’d never realized how… compelling, it was. How fascinating the frenzied frequencies truly were to perceive.  
  
Bumblebee’s chassis was more pink than yellow.  
  
He was never going to hear it again, was he?  
  
Bulkhead lifted Sari up to the table with one massive hand. The tankbot had lowered himself to the ground beside his friend and hadn’t moved an inch until then, remaining as eerily still as the statues he created. Ratchet’s hands pulled away to let Sari have access to Bumblebee’s sputtering spark. Inside Optimus’s processor, voices roared.  
  
[He’s going to be fine] one said, [Your spark was snuffed and that key bought you back perfectly fine. You’re worrying over nothing.]  
  
|maybe so| said another. For whatever reason, it sounded a bit like Sentinel. |but you were almost perfectly intact. your chassis was unstained. you were not torn apart|  
  
|you should have been|  
  
[The key can heal injuries, we’ve seen it before. His spark has not gone out.]  
  
|how long do you think he's been like that? how long can a spark flicker before it is damaged forever?|   
  
[...I don’t know]  
  
Sari’s key slid easily into the port, blue light blinding them all as she turned it. The crunching of metal sounded and Optimus could only assume it was the sound of Bumblebee’s servos twisting back into place.  
  
|do you think he crawled here? do you think he used those mangled servos to drag himself across the ground because he knew no one was coming for him?|   
  
[If I had known, I would’ve come]  
  
The light faded. Bumblebee’s spark glowed strong. His servos lay at his sides perfectly repaired. All traces of energon were gone.  
  
He still didn’t move.  
  
|but you did know. and you didn't come|   
  
[I didn’t know]  
  
|yes you did|   
  
[I didn’t know he was hurt]  
  
|you knew something was wrong|   
  
Bumblebee’s optics hadn’t closed, but they hadn’t come online, either. Optimus found himself searching them for something- anything- but they were completely flat, empty. The only thing he found was his own reflection.  
  
|he's staring at you|   
  
[His optics are offline. He can’t see anything]  
  
|he's staring at you|   
  
[.........................................]  
  
A hand rested itself on his shoulder and Optimus started, but still couldn’t move his gaze to look at who it was.  
  
“...Optimus,” Ratchet. It was Ratchet. He sounded so tired. “Staring isn’t gonna fix ‘im any faster.”  
  
Optimus didn’t say anything. A sigh sounded.  
  
“Look, I’ll let ya know if anything big happens but until then, you oughta head back to your chambers. Your EMF field could interfere with his ability to reboot.”  
  
A lie. Optimus may not have been a medic, but even he knew that was total nonsense.  
  
Nevertheless, he felt himself nod, rising slowly to his pedes and making his way from the room in silence. He understood. He wouldn’t have wanted him in there, either. This whole mess was his fault in the first place.  
  
If Bumblebee joined the Well of Allsparks, would he rest there thinking Optimus hated him? Would he go through eternity feeling abandoned and betrayed by the bot he’d put his trust in?  
  
The sound of Elita screaming echoed through his processor, her body falling into the darkness on endless repeat. He’d seen the betrayal in her optics as she fell- no, as he _let _her fall- and the sight of it hurt worse than anything that’d happened after.__  
  
For some reason, his mind made the connection of them both being yellow, and suddenly it was Bumblebee plummeting into the abyss, his twisted servos reaching helplessly towards where Optimus stood, useless. The pincers of those giant arachnids dug their way into Bumblebee’s neck and pulled, spraying energon everywhere. Static filled the air, and blue optics faded to grey still locked on Optimus’s face.  
  
He barely managed to make it to one of the empty barrels they had lying around the place before he found himself violently purging his tanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so short, but it's something of a filler, just meant to establish sorta what's going on before we get back into things. Also my brain is mush so there's that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumblebee regains consciousness. He's not a fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't @ me, I know it's been forever and I know this ain't much but y'all: shit's been _hectic _. Please bear with me.__

The first time he woke up, it lasted only a few clicks- too short for him to even really register that he’d woken up at all. Glowing letters broke the darkness, the word “ **REBOOT** ” staring him in the optics before blinking back away into nothing. The blackness blurred and shifted, bringing into view a featureless grey ceiling and a single fluorescent light. The sight was as meaningless to him as the emptiness he could feel himself slipping back into.  
  
He shut back down feeling just as detached as if he’d never awoken at all.  
  
The second time he woke up lasted barely any longer than the first.  
  
There were no letters that time, just a slow transition from nothing into something, which once again took the form of a blank ceiling and that one, bright light. Only this time, there was something else: a splash of red and blue, so far off to his right that it was just barely visible. He felt something surge through him at the sight of it. Those colors meant something to him, he knew they did, but he couldn’t remember why and he couldn’t feel his body, let alone move it, meaning he had no way of getting a closer look.  
  
The colors moved away after a while, and he fell back into stasis wondering why the loss of their presence hurt as badly as it did.  
  
Several similar instances happened. He couldn’t say how many or over how long, but that pattern repeated itself a few times. The darkness would fade, and that light would be there until it wasn’t anymore. He saw the colors, sometimes. Red, white, blue, green- he even once thought he saw black moving on the very edge of his vision, and wondered why that black comforted him in a way that the blackness he’d spent most of his time in couldn’t. It meant something to him. All of those colors meant something to him, but he never knew what.  
  
Sometimes, he heard things. He heard the buzzing of the light, the distant sounds of motion, and the general ambiance of… wherever this was, but his favorite were the voices. The voices were rare, usually hushed or far away, but they were just like the colors in their consoling familiarity. He never knew what they were saying, but he loved them nonetheless. When they faded away, as they always inevitably did, it hurt even worse than the loss of the colors did.  
  
Once, he even felt something. It’d been indistinct, so much so that he was half-convinced he’d made it up, but he could’ve sworn he’d felt… something, touching his faceplates. His vision had been full of color at the time, so much so that it even blocked out that light, and the sound of voices was closer, realer than had ever been. Yellow. The colors had been magenta, brown, and yellow, and they made his spark surge so strongly with an unplaceable recognition that it was almost a sensation in and of itself. The voices had been loud, so loud, and there was something touching his face plates. The warmth, small as it may have been, felt like fire against a body he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. The despair he felt at losing it all a few clicks later was immeasurable.  
  
When he woke for what could’ve been the millionth time, he wasn’t expecting much. Really, his processor was too hazy for him to even have the mental capacity required for expectation, but still.  
  
By now, the sight of the light was as meaningless to him as the darkness. He was able to name the emotion that washed over him upon realizing that he could neither see any color nor hear any voices: disappointment. The feeling was disappointment. It once again appeared to be just him and the light. He sighed.  
  
…..  
  
….Wait  
  
His spark surged. He’d just sighed. He’d actually heard himself do it.  
  
And now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he could actually feel his own body. It felt heavy and sluggish, sure, but he could actually feel it. His vision was sharper, too, enough so that he could see the minute cracks on the ceiling and the individual dots in the fluorescent light above him. His digits twitched when he commanded them to.  
  
With no small amount of effort, he lifted his helm up an inch or two- just enough to look at himself. There was a vague expectation in the back of his processor for there to be a lot of pink, so the sight of pure, untainted yellow left him relieved. Pink was bad. He couldn’t remember why, exactly, but he knew pink was bad.  
  
Unfortunately, being able to feel his body again wasn’t all good. He was now uncomfortably aware of the dull ache encompassing most of his frame, along with a peculiar… lightness, near his throat. That and his back felt strangely heavy for some reason. Bulkier, somehow? His senses were still too hazy to really tell any specifics beyond just a vague notion of weight and pain.  
  
He wasn’t really given much time to ruminate on it, though. He heard a rhythmic thumping getting louder and louder, and his attempts to turn his helm were somewhat stifled by the fact that said helm felt as though it had been filled with rocks, but it turned out he didn’t really need to. He had just managed to catch a glimpse of green before he heard a gasp.  
  
“BUMBLEBEE!!!” A loud, deep, voice bellowed, and suddenly he felt as though he was being crushed. Instead of feeling panic, however, the crushing impact filled him with content. With what little ability he had to do so, he leaned into it, struggling to bring his arms up and hug back. That’s what this was; a hug. A very enthusiastic, perhaps slightly violent hug, but a hug nonetheless.  
  
Bumblebee… that was his name. How had he forgotten his own name? Well, it wasn’t really that he’d forgotten it, but more so that he simply hadn’t thought of it for some time. But he was thinking about it now. He was Bumblebee, he was alive, and he wasn’t alone.  
  
“Woah, woah, woah, kid, ease up on him!” Another voice rang out, much older sounding and raspier than the first. “He just woke up, give him some room to vent properly.”  
  
“Oh, o-okay,” the first voice came again. The tight grip let up, holding him back at more of a servos length, but still not letting go of him. He was thankful for that. “Sorry, Bumblebee, I just… I’m so happy you’re awake!” Bulkhead. This was Bulkhead, his friend, and the big lug looked like he was about to start bawling. A teasing smile made its way onto Bumblebee’s faceplates. Bulky always was too sensitive for his own good.  
  
He opened his mouth, a taunt poised on the edge of his glossa.  
  
All that came out was a strange beeping noise.  
  
Everything seemed to freeze.  
  
Bumblebee’s faceplates twisted. What was that? Did he make that noise? That couldn’t be right, he hadn’t meant to do… whatever that was; he was trying to make fun of Bulkhead. Confused, he tried again.  
  
Nothing. Just that beeping sound again.  
  
Horror began to set in. He tried again. And again, and again, and again. He tried to ask what was happening, what was wrong with him, even just tried calling out to the two bots he recognized before him but all that came out was a series of beeps, whirs, and chirps that sounded nothing even remotely like speech.  
  
No. No no no no no no no, this couldn’t be happening!  
  
He reached for his throat, feeling with shaking digits for the familiar bump of his vocalizer. Maybe it was just glitching, maybe this was something that could still be fixed.  
  
His digits found empty space, and he sobbed. The sound was unrecognizable.  
  
He started screaming, clawing at the void where his voice used to be. He didn’t know what he was hoping to accomplish. He wasn’t even sure if he was necessarily trying to accomplish anything at all.  
  
His digits caught on something and the terrible, high-pitched screech cracked and broke as smoke began to spill out from his mouth. He felt energon spill over his digits, leaking from somewhere near the gap in his throat. The feeling was sickeningly familiar.  
  
The voices sounded panicked, but he couldn’t understand them anymore. All he could hear was the now weak, crackling noise that was his poor imitation of sobbing. He couldn’t even cry properly anymore.  
  
His helm hurt. A lot, actually. Why was that? Unimportant. None of that mattered. Red and white filled his vision and suddenly he felt himself slipping away. No. No, he didn’t want to go back! He didn’t want to go back to the darkness, he just came back!  
  
But he couldn’t resist it. The pull of the darkness was too strong, and for the one million and oneth time he was dragged away.  
  
At least Bulkhead hadn’t let go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone else been doing? Not so good.
> 
> In other news, I love ellipses and not even god can stop me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, here's another, longer, chapter. Hopefully this somewhat makes up for my long absence before. Also I'm definitely gonna end up doing that again because life be like that sometimes so this also serves as a preemptive apology, too.

Four days, 7 megacycles, 3 cycles, 82 clicks, and 13 nanoclicks. That was how long it took for Bumblebee to wake up, and Optimus knew he hadn’t been the only one counting. He hadn’t set the timer consciously, either, but after he’d finished purging his tanks into the first stray barrel he’d come across, he’d spotted the numbers ticking silently in the corner of his optics. 53 cycles, 24 clicks, and 67 nanoclicks. It must’ve started counting the moment he’d caught sight of Bumblebee.  
  
Bulkhead wasn’t speaking to him. The tankbot may have been teased for being a bit more frame than processor but it didn’t take a genius to connect the mystery static with the ugly hole in Bumblebee’s throat. It’d taken him a while, sure, but 3 megacycles, 14 cycles, 12 clicks, and 22 nanoclicks after he carried his friend’s lifeless frame into the compound it dawned on him.  
  
The realization seemed to come suddenly. One moment he was staring into space, as he had been for a long while, and the next there was understanding kindled in his optics. Optimus only just caught sight of the accusatory glare before he was slammed to the floor.  
  
It took the combined efforts of Prowl and Ratchet to pull the tankbot away. They were shouting something, too, but all Optimus could hear was Bulkhead.  
  
“You should have checked on him!”  
  
He should have.  
  
“You knew something was wrong!”  
  
He had.  
  
“Bumblebee only ever does that static thing when he’s trying to blow us off, why would he have called to do it?!”  
  
He’d known it hadn’t made sense.  
  
“He was trying to call for help and you hung up on him!”  
  
Yes, he did.  
  
Optimus didn’t get up after that. He saw Bulkhead stomp away, but he didn’t get up until Ratchet hauled him to his pedes and dragged him towards the medbay, muttering about banging out the dent Bulkhead had left on Optimus’s faceplates. Funny, he hadn’t even felt it at all.  
  
He didn’t want to look at Bumblebee while he was in there. Somehow, seeing him perfectly intact but perfectly still was just as bad, maybe even worse, than seeing him so damaged. If he was damaged, he had reason not to move, but he was fixed now. There wasn’t a scratch on him and he still wasn’t moving. Even in stasis, Bumblebee twitched and murmured and rolled around. Prowl used to complain about it all the time back when they’d all slept near each other on the ship.  
  
He didn’t want to look at Bumblebee, and yet, when Ratchet had stepped out to go get whatever tools it was that he needed, Optimus found himself doing exactly that. Against his will, he even found himself moving, walking over to hover some 5 feet away from the slab where Bumblebee lay. He just stared. He couldn’t get closer, as if there were some sort of force field preventing him from encroaching any further upon the space his fallen teammate occupied, but he couldn’t step any farther away either. All he could do was stare, silently.  
  
There was a moment in which he could’ve sworn he saw the slightest hint of blue behind Bumblebee’s closed optics. It sent a confusing mix of elation, hope, and nausea lurching through his spark. He wanted Bumblebee to wake up, wanted it so desperately there was nothing he could think of that he wouldn’t do to make it happen, but the thought of looking the scout in the optics after what had happened- no, not after what had happened, after what he’d done- made him hate himself so powerfully he could almost physically feel it.  
  
But Bumblebee didn’t so much as twitch. And when Ratchet returned to the room and gently guided him away from his youngest teammate, Optimus wrote it off as just his imagination. A desperate processor could trick the optics into seeing many things that weren’t there.  
  
The next 4 days were probably the worst of his entire lifetime. The silence was oppressive, made even more so by the collective recognition of what was causing it. It was a relief that the Decepticons had remained dormant during that time period, as he highly doubted any of them would’ve been able to put up a decent fight in this state. Though, Optimus thought, that was quite possibly because they’d already gotten what they wanted for now.  
  
Ratchet was the only one who’d speak to him. Bulkhead wouldn’t so much as look at him, and Prowl hadn’t spoken a word the whole time. At least, not to any of them.  
  
He hadn’t meant to see what he saw. Prowl was a deeply private bot, not the type to be overly fond of being spied on, and really, Optimus hadn’t meant to spy at all but it had been 3 days, 24 megacycles, 13 cycles, 46 clicks, and 2 nanoclicks since Bumblebee had been found outside the compound and Optimus hadn’t gone into stasis for a nanoclick of it. Instead, he’d been pacing the compound like a caged organic, walking back and forth up and down the barren hallways as if the solution to his guilt would be hiding around one of the corners.  
  
The sound of Prowl’s voice had startled him. The ninjabot had been eerily silent after subduing Bulkhead, so suddenly hearing him was enough to briefly convince Optimus that the lack of stasis had gotten to him.  
  
Instead, he saw a light creeping into the hallway from the medbay, and the unmistakeably pointy shadow of his teams’ resident ninja cast on the concrete along with it.  
  
“-I found another documentary today. I know, you think those are ‘lame’, but you actually might have liked this one.” Prowl’s voice was measured and slow as it usually was, but if he listened closely, he could swear he heard something of a tremble in it. Optimus crept closer. Normally, Prowl would’ve noticed his presence by now, but Optimus got the distinct sense he was… distracted.  
  
The scene in the medbay was as touching as it was tragic. Were it not for the gravity of the situation, Optimus would’ve loved to have taken a photo of the moment. After all, the sight of Prowl seated on the edge of the table, willingly talking to Bumblebee was one so bizarre he could hardly believe his optics. But there it was- Prowl perched by Bumblebee’s side, one of his hands resting on the unconscious scout’s servo as he continued to talk.  
  
“It was talking about an earth creature called a ‘cheetah’, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of you. They’re yellow and black, and they go very fast. There were some shots of them running where they practically looked like they were flying. No jetpack or turbo-boosters needed. The film said they were from a place called ‘Africa’. There are a number of fascinating life forms there. Perhaps we could go some time, when you wake up. If nothing else, there should be plenty of open land for you to tear up.”  
  
Optimus hadn’t meant to make any noise. Honestly, he didn’t even hear anything, but he must’ve done something, because Prowl’s helm whipped around, his shock at being snuck up on obvious even with the visor covering his optics.  
  
“I’m, sorry to intrude,” the words sounded pathetic even in his head but Prowl just shook his helm.  
  
“No, no, it’s alright,” Prowl muttered. “You just, surprised me, is all.”  
  
“Didn’t mean to,” Optimus said. “I didn’t even know you were in here.”  
  
“Yes, well, that was sort of the idea. I know it’s nonsensical but I remember hearing Sari mention something a while back about talking, to people who were… asleep, like this. I don’t know if it’s just an organic thing or if it’s even a thing at all but it’s… better than feeling useless, I suppose.”  
  
“I know the feeling,” Optimus had said.  
  
He’d turned and left after a moment. The last thing he saw before leaving the room was Prowl’s hand, still laying on Bumblebee’s servo. He had the distinct feeling the ninjabot had stayed all night.  
  
He’d spoken to Ratchet about it, springing the conversation after 2 days, 53 megacycles, 82 cycles, 19 clicks, and 48 nanoclicks.  
  
“So, what’s your assessment?” He’d asked. The two of them had been sitting in the medbay, off near the table where Ratchet had banged out the Bulkhead-related dent a while ago. Optimus didn’t mean to keep coming back in here, but he couldn’t help it.  
  
“Of Bumblebee?” Ratchet had asked. Neither of them knew why the medic had even bothered with the question.  
  
“Of Bumblebee,” Optimus confirmed. Ratchet had sighed.  
  
“It’s a mess, kid. His spark was stabilized by the key, but…” he’d shaken his helm, looking older in that moment than Optimus had ever thought him to be.  
  
“But?” Optimus had prompted. He didn’t want to know, but he needed to know.  
  
“But I don’t know if it’ll turn out to have been too little too late,” Ratchet said. “By the time he got in here his processor had already shut down, and I don’t know for how long. The loss of energon put his spark into emergency conservation mode, meaning it shut down everything it deemed nonessential to survival.”  
  
“But he survived, didn’t he? His spark is fine.”  
  
“He survived, yes, and he’s not in any immediate danger of going offline. The question is whether or not he’ll ever come out of stasis. If his processor was shut down for too long, it’s possible it’ll just stay shut down, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”  
  
“Oh,” Optimus had said. He didn’t know what else he could have said.  
  
“And even if he does come out of stasis,” Ratchet continued, “there’s gonna be some… issues.”  
  
“Issues?” Optimus asked. “What issues?”  
  
“His vocalizer,” Ratchet answered. “It’s completely gone. I noticed when I was trying to patch him up. Looked like it’d been torn right out. And unfortunately, as great as Sari’s key is, it doesn’t look like it can create core parts from nothing.”  
  
“So he just… doesn’t have a vocalizer?” Optimus felt sick all over again. The memory of him snapping at Bumblebee to be quiet just before the scout had run off echoed in his head. It seemed the universe had a Decepticon’s sick sense of humor. “Well, that’s not that bad, right? They’re replaceable, aren’t they?”  
  
“Usually, yes,” Ratchet had replied. The hesitation in his voice made Optimus’s spark plummet. “But Bumblebee’s throat was… the key didn’t exactly have much left to work with. It healed him, yes, but it also seems to have healed over the damage in a way that might make it impossible for a vocalizer to be outfitted.”  
  
“How so?” Optimus croaked.  
  
“Optimus,” Ratchet had sounded so uncharacteristically gentle and he hated it. “You don’t need to push yourself. It might be better if you don’t-”  
  
“Ratchet,” he’d interrupted. “Just… please. Tell me. What was the damage?” Another sigh.  
  
“Whatever tore out his vocalizer was reckless,” -‘whatever?’ Optimus was pretty sure they both knew it was a ‘whoever’- “it tore through a whole lot of cables and vital lines on the way. Nearly decapitated him.”  
  
The urge to purge his tanks again was nearly overwhelming, but Optimus forced it down. Something about what Ratchet had just said stood out to him.  
  
“Wait, if he was…” he couldn’t say it. “If there was that much damage, wouldn’t he have… wouldn’t he have gone offline? If it really was that bad, there’s no way he could’ve survived longer than a few cycles at most, right?” Ratchet nodded.  
  
“Right. That’s the weird part.”  
  
“Weird how?”  
  
“A lot of it was… melted.” Melted?! “That’s why the area was so unrecoverable- most of it had been melted. But I’d bet my EMP generator that that’s what saved his spark. It was about as precise as using a sledgehammer to fix a microchip, sure, but it looked to me like it’d managed to seal off most of the vital lines and keep him from bleeding out.”  
  
“So what are you saying? Bumblebee used his stingers to cauterize himself?” Optimus decided he very much did not like the look that spread across Ratchet’s faceplates.  
  
“Not… exactly.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“It means that Bumblebee’s servos were twisted completely out of place,” Optimus flinched, but didn’t interrupt. “Kid couldn’t have moved the fraggin’ things, never mind actually used his stingers. Plus, I don’t think his stingers aren’t big or powerful enough to cause that kind of damage. Bumblebee’s stingers are small, precise- that looked like it was done by something much larger.”  
  
“So… if Bumblebee didn’t try to heal himself, what do you think happened?”  
  
“That’s what I can’t figure out,” Ratchet sighed. “I’ve run through about a dozen different possibilities and not a single one makes a lick of sense.”  
  
They’d sat in a mutual silence for several moments. There was one possibility that loomed heavier than all the others over their heads. Neither of them said anything out loud but the obvious, impossible conclusion hung in the air. The only problem was that nothing about that scenario made any realistic sense.  
  
“Well,” Optimus had said, finally breaking the silence. “What matters is that it worked. He’s still alive- he’s got a fighting chance.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ratchet agreed. “He does.”  
  
The next- and last- really noticeable event before Bumblebee finally woke up occurred 4 days, 1 megacycle, 92 cycles, 67 clicks, and 82 nanoclicks after Bumblebee’s initial discovery.  
  
No one knew how, exactly, Sari had managed to sneak in. They’d been doing their best to keep the little organic away from the compound, for her own sake. The poor girl never should have had to see her friend in that state, and Optimus wished dearly that there had been any other way to have gone about it, but the fact remained that she had been traumatized enough. The last thing she needed was further torment.  
  
And yet, that girl always did have a knack for ignoring them. Not only had she managed to sneak into the warehouse, but she also somehow managed to climb up onto the metal table where her friend lay. Optimus didn’t even want to think about what could’ve happened if she’d fallen at any point. That key of hers couldn’t fix organics.  
  
Ratchet had been the one to hear her talking. Although, perhaps ‘shouting’ was a more accurate descriptor. Her voice was shrill and frantic, sobs piercing the air as she cried for the scout to wake up. The rest of them had piled into the medbay to see the girl perched on Bumblebee’s face, banging the metal of his plates ineffectively with her tiny, organic fists. Her eyes were leaking again, water pouring down her cheeks as her miniature torso heaved with broken breaths. Ratchet had tried to peel her off as gently as possible, and she’d done her best to cling to the smooth metal of the scout beneath her.  
  
“His eyes are open!” She cried. “His eyes are open I swear!”  
  
Optimus volunteered to take her back home. She didn’t stop crying the entire way.  
  
When Bumblebee finally woke up, Optimus wasn’t even there to see it. From what he was told, Bulkhead and Ratchet were the only ones to have seen the short-lived burst of consciousness before the medic had to put the scout back down for fear he’d hurt himself.  
  
He couldn’t speak. Ratchet had told him as much earlier on, so Optimus had thought he’d be prepared for it but having to hear for sure that yes, Bumblebee had been robbed of the one thing that’d so defined him hurt.  
  
Optimus wasn’t going to risk missing it again. He stationed himself by Bumblebee’s side, staring at the scout’s once again motionless form and praying that this time it wouldn’t take as long for him to get his chance.  
  
He wasn’t the only one. Not a single one of them had left the medbay. Bulkhead didn’t appear to have moved at all since Bumblebee woke up initially, still cradling the tiny bot in his gigantic servos. The tankbot was crying. He was talking to Optimus, which was nice, but he wished the circumstances could’ve been better.  
  
“Optimus, he was,” the green bot blubbered, “he was trying to talk. He was trying so hard but he just…”  
  
It was another megacycle before Bumblebee woke up again. His bright blue optics opened slowly, shuttering a few times before turning around to look at all of them. His gaze fell on Optimus last, and stayed there.  
  
All he could say was;  
  
“I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, if I got some things about Cybertronian anatomy or healing or all that wrong- whatever. I'm about to throw canon to the wind baby I don't give a fuck.


End file.
